


On A Cold Lonely Highway

by Elenhin



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Bringing Mary Home, Broken Down Car, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenhin/pseuds/Elenhin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween challenge given by the wonderful and talented Aramirandme81.  The challenge was to write a Halloween story involving the Almighty Johnson.</p>
<p>Subject, the traditional broken down car in the middle of the night on a scary road and the phone have no signal. Must also contain the words Empty, Deep, Crimson, Screaming and Breaking. </p>
<p>This would be the story, a sort of scary story as befits Halloween but not too bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Cold Lonely Highway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aramirandme81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramirandme81/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own the Almighty Johnsons, nor any other stray Norse Gods found in said show. Anders assures me that in spite of popular belief he is not a dwarf, though my three inch high Fili and Kili does not quite appear to agree with him. Anders is also under protection of Kili and no permanent harm will come to him in my fanfic stories.
> 
> Big thanks again to Aramirandme81 for the challenge. Crkiey have I enjoyed it. ;)

On A Cold Lonely Road

The rain was pouring down, washing over the windshield and obscuring the road in front of him to the point where he sometimes wasn’t sure if there really was a road there or not. If it had been one of the larger highways it wouldn’t have been so bad, there would have been signs, and light posts, side roads and other cars. Now he was on a small deserted road and he hadn’t seen another car for nearly an hour. 

While Anders knew that given his slow pace he still hadn’t gotten very far in that hour it was really starting to grow on his nerves. He didn’t like this sort of odd roads where there was nothing but scary looking old trees and depressing rain soaked fields. It was not a view that could lift your spirits at all and at the moment he felt about as down about everything as Ty. 

He was starting to think that he should have stayed where he was, instead of pushing on home. 

Knowing that made it Dawn’s fault lifted his spirits a little. At least he could claim it was her fault. He knew it wasn’t really, but telling her it was her fault would make her flustered and confused, and it amused him. He’d let her stew about it for a bit, then leave the office claiming since it was still her fault, he needed a break. 

She really, really hated when he did that, which was why it was so much fun. Of course when he returned with sandwiches and coffee for them she’d forget her annoyance. She knew it wasn’t her fault, it just threw her for a moment when he claimed it, and he lived for those moments. 

In a way it even made sense. He had been forced to leave town on behalf of a client and had contemplated staying the night out of town, seeing as how he knew it would be late and he’d be able to spend the evening in a more pleasurable way if he stayed where he was. Dawn who knew him well enough to know that meant he’d spend it drinking in bars ordered him to drive home after since it was a workday. He had grudgingly agreed, telling her she owed him for it, and now he was really regretting it. 

The tires slipped in the muddy puddles and he cursed, he wasn’t a racecar driver, he didn’t know shit about driving through mud with skidding tires. He’d be running into the ditch if he tried it, and it meant he would have to slow his pace even further. 

“I’ll fucking never get home,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the side window. It might have been a trick of the rain, but he was sure, so sure that he saw a snail crawling along the road passing him. 

Empty, looking up the road he sighed as he couldn’t see even the faintest sign of a car, it was empty, completely empty and totally empty. Looking in the rear view mirror he saw the exact same thing. Miles and miles of empty. 

A puddle in the road ahead of him was obviously deeper than it looked, and he knew vaguely what it was when he felt the car pull and slide, the steering wheel actually fighting him for control of the car, threatening to tear loose out of his hands. The puddle was deep, his tires didn’t have the best tread and were now skimming over the surface of the water rather than plowing through it. 

It struck him that Mike would probably have been able to handle it. He had driven that old junk heap of a truck for so many years. Tearing up the roads with Rob while Anders had to stay home, studying and making sure the kids got dinner. 

He had been bitter about it then and he was bitter about it now. 

He was especially bitter about it now when he knew Mike had the driving skill needed to save himself and he did not. Even if he knew that tearing down back roads would not have been something he would have done regardless. He didn’t mind driving fast, but it wasn’t his thrill. A vague memory in the back of his head told him there had been a time he sat in the passenger seat, squealing with delight and pleasurable fright as the car skidded. He just couldn’t remember why or who had been driving, and right at this moment it was not fun, not fun at all. 

The rear of the car started sliding sideways, pulling and dragging the weight of the car with it. He fought with the wheel, wondering how the hell the skid could be so bad when he had been driving so slow. Then the car ran into something and bounced over it, throwing him hard against the door before it came to a stop and for a moment all he could do was to sit shaking, his hands clutching the wheel in a death grip, and how the fuck was he supposed to handle this? 

The engine had died and he forced himself to let go of the wheel with one hand so he could turn the key. 

The engine gave a whine and died. 

Cursing himself for being such a whimpering idiot who couldn’t even start a car he pressed down the clutch, eased in the first gear and turned the key.

The engine gave a whine and died.

Swallowing now against the residual shock from it, and the fear that he was stuck and not getting anywhere he turned the key again. 

The engine didn’t even give a whine, it remained dead. 

Anders drew a sharp breath, the rain had eased up he noted, but it hadn’t stopped and so he turned his collar up before he popped the release catch to the bonnet. Going out he shivered as the cold rain washed over his face, walking around to the front and opening the bonnet to peer at the engine. 

“I have no idea what the fuck any of this shit does,” he sighed as he looked at the mass of mechanical parts, wires, tubes and random dirty objects. He knew that there was a carburetor somewhere, and a distributor, he just didn’t know which was which. He found the battery though and noted that there were two wires running from it to somewhere else. “So far so good, but what the fuck does the rest do?” Giving something a tug he noted that it was at least bolted in place. “Fucking great, all this tells me is that I’ve got an engine,” he muttered. He couldn’t even say why he had bothered to look as he left the bonnet open but slipped back in behind the wheel. Pulling out his mobile to do the only sensible thing, call for someone to come and get him out of there. 

It was probably because he had been thinking about Mike and he knew that Mike would have been able to sort out his engine, he had wished he could sort out his. 

He was already scrolling through the list of numbers for road assistance when he noticed the phone had no signal. Looking around at all the trees surrounding him he cursed again. He’d have to go out into the rain and hope he could catch a signal. 

The rain was still just as cold, and even though he walked up and down the road, there was no signal. 

He wiped the water from the screen, and noted how it started flashing, then died. Apparently it hated the rain as much as he did, and he really, really hated it. By now he was soaked through to the skin, his feet icy cold because his shoes were absolutely not made for this sort of things. The water had only needed a few minutes to soak through his jacket, and not even that long to turn his socks into water soaked rags. 

He hated being wet and cold, but he absolutely hated when his feet were wet and cold. Probably because they got cold so easily and it was almost impossible for him to feel warm again afterwards. 

Thrusting the useless phone into his pocket he stood in front of the engine again. Getting the car started again was his only chance, and he was honest enough to know it wasn’t much of one. 

Still going to the boot he found a small tool kit that would serve a halfway competent man in case of emergencies. 

He was not halfway competent when it came to mechanical objects. He was not even a quarter competent, probably not even a fifth part competent. 

Simply put he was an incompetent idiot who would do better to leave it alone, for the only thing he managed to do was hurting his hand and his foot so that they both throbbed with pain. His hand because he slipped with the spanner, trying to do something, and his foot because he kicked the damn thing in anger. 

That did not make him feel better at all. 

Knowing he only had two options he hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arms around himself. He could sit in the car and wait where he was, hoping someone would pass this way, and hope it was not some psychotic mass murderer who roamed around small abandoned roads in the middle of the night to kill people with a lawn mower.  
Or he could walk down the road in front of him hoping to find a house where he could borrow the phone, again, hoping it wasn’t someone who liked to chop people up with lawn movers. 

He didn’t know if his Bragi powers would work on anyone who liked to do that. For all he knew, there was some sick hot dog man living there who liked putting something extra in his hot dogs. 

He didn’t like the idea of spending the night sitting freezing and soaking wet in his car either though, so trying to gather what little courage he had he started shuffling down the road. 

There were times when he really wished he was a little braver, for again, Mike would simply have done it and never worried about anyone with lawn movers. Mike never worried about crazy people with lawn movers. 

Mike was brave.

Anders was a coward.

Walking down the road he vowed that when he got back he’d buy himself a new pair of shoes, proper sturdy shoes, the kind that Mike wore. Things that didn’t leak through water like a sieve, or made him feel so frozen. Shoes that you could walk a mile in without getting blisters so bad you thought they were literally trying to peel the flesh from the bones. 

He had thought with the broken down car, no working phone and being soaking wet he couldn’t be more miserable, but blisters did the trick. 

Oh, blisters made it all plenty worse. 

He didn’t so much wish he was more like Mike anymore, instead there was a wish in the back of the head that he was a small kid again. One that could go running to Mike who would fix it all. Tease him, sigh tiredly at his whining but pick him up and help him get warm and dry again. 

He didn’t really notice when the scenery changed, but a small rock he kicked suddenly skittered off the side of the road with a clatter and he paused. There was a sheer drop on that side, and the road was no longer muddy blacktop but slimy dirt and mud. 

Looking down he swallowed. Suddenly the thought of blaming Dawn for this was not so amusing anymore. He wasn’t particularly afraid of heights, but he had a healthy respect for the possibility of falling down from them. He knew just how much it would hurt, and that was not cowardice, it was common sense. 

Pulling out his mobile again in desperation he tried to get a spark of life out of it. 

That was pretty much exactly what he got. 

The thing came to life, but the water had clearly done it damage for he only had time to notice that there was still no signal before it made a nasty sound, flashing brilliantly and sending a small jolt of electricity through his hand. With a curse he threw it away from him, shaking his hand which was now partially numb. 

His foot comes down on a loose rock, causing him to fall heavily and slide down the steep slope. He freezes as he realizes he’s falling, there is no reflex to grab on to something and shock causes him to be silent. Finally he raises his arms to protect his head, he’s not so much falling as sliding and tumbling, but it’s just as bad because he’s striking rocks and bits of trees. 

When he finally comes to rest at the bottom it takes him a while to even realize it. He lies panting and then slowly lowers his arms, looking up and the sky stays in place. He’s not sliding anymore, but he’s hurting. 

He hurts everywhere, bruises and cuts and he feels faint just by the realization that he’ll be bleeding. He knows he will be bleeding and he’s not good with blood so he squeezes his eyes shut. 

When he opens his eyes again he refuses to look at himself. His ankle hurts and barely holds his weight. It causes him to whimper and half sob with pain as he takes a few limping steps. 

Going through the forest is crazy, even in this dazed state he knows that, so he struggles to make his way up the sloop back to the road. It takes all the willpower he has to climb back up to the road and by now he is not so scared of anyone with lawn movers anymore because he’s starting to think it would be a relief. 

Hobbling forward along the road he cuts the sole of his foot open on a sharp rock and looks down, only then realizing he only has one shoe left. Somewhere in the tumble down the sloop he lost his left shoe, the useless shoe, but still it was more protection than just his black stocking and another whimper escapes him. 

His head is throbbing and he knows that in spite of all the cuts and bruises on his arms from trying to protect it he hit something, and sometimes the road sways in front of his eyes. The only bright note being that it hurts enough to drown out his utter soaked wet and cold misery. 

He finds himself on a bridge, truly that is what happens because he does not remember setting foot on it, but suddenly it is there under his feet when he looks down. Stopping and wiping water from his face he looks down. The rain have dissolved the gel in his hair and it is now a slimy substance on his face. Rain and hair gel, cold and slimy and utterly disgusting. 

Deep, it’s the only thing he can think as he looks over the side of the bridge. Deep, endless deep darkness under him. Somewhere in the depth there is the rolling motion of water. A heavy roaring sound he can hear now that he is listening for it, but it is so far down, it is so deep and he finds himself latching hold of the railing. His hands are frozen in place and not from the cold but from the fear. 

He has to get off the bridge, away from that deep darkness and promise of death bellow. Inching his way across, never letting go of the railing completely, moving one hand, and then following with the other and finally he’s on the other side and he’s running. Running away from it, trying to run away from the nightmare he’s finding himself in. 

He did not stop until he was gasping for air and could not run anymore. He could barely breath at all. Gasping for air that would not fill his lungs. His ankle hurting twice as much now but at least holding his weight.

It was sheer self preservation that allowed him to take control and force himself to suck in air slowly. When he was little and it happened Mike would take him in his lap and rub his back, It helped him to calm down and slow his breathing so that he was actually breathing. 

He had to take control to get out of this, and slowly started down the road again. Stopping in shock when he saw the shape of a little girl by the roadside, showing up in the faint moonlight that just started cracking through the clouds. 

“Hi,” she spoke first. “I’m Mary.” 

“Hello, I’m Anders,” she had to be terrified. He was scared out of his mind, how frightened must not she be he thought. Oddly enough, while her face was white she did not look so scared. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

“I’m on my way home, will you take me?” she asked. 

“Um, yeah, sure,” he nodded, his head spinning. He could barely comprehend it, but then if she lived near there had to be a house where he could borrow the phone. 

“I live just down the road,” she told him. “I walk here at times, but I never meant to be out this late, and mum and dad will wonder where I am.” 

“Yeah, they must be really worried,” the situation was still surreal to him, but he felt oddly protective about her. Perhaps because she was so young and looked so fragile. He didn’t know much about kids, and didn’t know much about worried parents waiting for you at home. Only walking in late to the fighting and the flying plates that made you wish you had stayed outside. 

He didn’t know what to say so he walked quietly beside her, spotting the tiny bit of colour in the distance with relief. The sun was creeping up over the horizon. 

Crimson, a tiny streak of bright crimson stretching across the sky and he had to swallow for it reminded him so much of the blood on his face and hands that he was still trying so hard not too look at. He hated the crimson at the edge of his vision as he glanced at the girl walking beside him, at least the rain had now fully stopped. 

“There it is!” she exclaimed suddenly pointing ahead and he could see the faint light from a porch lamp. 

He felt relief wash over him for surely the parents of the little girl must be grateful enough to let him use the phone, perhaps even drive him into the closest town. He could worry about getting back to his car later. It was useless at the moment anyway. They’d be sure to let him dry off and give him a ride, he was sure about it. He approached the porch and the door opened so he looked to the girl beside him, giving a start when she wasn’t there. Spinning around he tried to spot her, finally turning back to the old woman on the porch. 

“There was a girl, Mary, she said she lived her,” he started. He might have been the god of poetry, but at the moment he was at a loss for words. “She was right here with me, just a little girl. Where did she go?” 

The woman looked at him with sad eyes, a gentle but grief filled smile on her face. “Mary hasn’t lived her for near thirteen years, but she was our little girl, she was killed in a wreck just down the road one night, on her way home.” 

Anders took a step back, his eyes wide. “No, you don’t understand, she , she was right here.” 

“I,” she paused. “I want to thank you, for looking after her, but she’s not here. You’re the thirteenth one who’s been here, bringing Mary home.” 

Anders drew a shaky breath, and she seemed to collect herself. “Never mind that, look at you. You must have had an awful time.”

“My car, it’s broken down,” he managed. Wondering if there ever had been a little girl. Probably not he decided. After all he had hit his head. “I fell somewhere, and I’d really appreciate it if I could use your phone.” 

“The line is dead after the storm, but the weather is clearing up. My husband will take you into town.” She called into the house and Anders could only sigh with relief. 

He found himself in the passenger seat of an old but reliable car just a few moments later. Too tired to talk or tell of what had happened but the man did not seem to expect him to talk. He had only given him a sympathetic smile as he started. 

They were going back the way he had come from, but there was something and Anders came alert. There was something with the road and he sat upright in the seat. 

“Wait, stop!” he cried. 

“Is something wrong?” sounding worried the man pulled the car to a stop and Anders stumbled out. It was foggy and hazy, and in spite of the first light of dawn he saw a pair of headlights coming out of the distance. 

He could see the little girl, Mary, walking down the road. He saw the headlights approach but they could not see the girl. She was hidden in the darkness, but he saw. He saw and he knew the inevitable. 

Screaming, loud in his ears, ringing and he knew it was he himself who was screaming. 

The car came too fast, there was nothing he could do where he stood in the middle of the road. The scream had left him with lungs starved for air, and then the car was upon them. He and the girl, both in the path of it. 

It was a massive shadow with impossible bright headlights, a mass of shadows but with no real bulk. No hard steel, no glass windshield, just that massive cold shape, a blurred image of something long since passed. 

His world was spinning and he was falling, the shadow passing. 

The last thing he remembered was his arm breaking under him as he landed heavily. 

The next thing he was aware of was Mike’s voice breaking through the darkness. 

“Anders, come on bro, Anders?” 

His voice was gentle, not mad and angry as it usually was when he spoke to him and Anders forced himself to open his eyes to see what was wrong. If Mike sounded worried and concerned when talking to him, then something was wrong, very wrong. 

“Mike?” he croaked and his brother touched a plastic cup to his lips, allowing him to have a small sip of water. Making it easier for him to speak. “Mike?” 

“Yeah, it’s me Anders,” Mike leaned back looking a little weary but still relieved. “What the fuck did you do to yourself Anders?” 

“The car wouldn’t start, and my mobile didn’t have any signal, and it was so fucking cold and dark, and what was I supposed to do?” suddenly he felt transformed to a little kid. Scolded for something that wasn’t his fault and his voice thick with emotion he could barely keep in check. “What the fuck was I supposed to do Mike?” he mumbled. “I’m not you, I couldn’t fix the fucking car. I don’t know how, and I know I’m stupid and useless, but I can’t change that. I couldn’t fix it, I couldn’t, so what the fuck was I supposed to do!” 

“Easy Anders,” Mike urged. “Don’t get so worked up okay? I’m not here to blame you for anything. Jesus, what do you think of me? They called me and told me you were admitted here. That is, Dawn called me and told me after they called her. She thought I would like to know.” He didn’t say anything about the fact that they had called Dawn because she was listened as Anders’ emergency contact whereas he was not. None of the brothers were, his brother was not ready for that yet. 

Anders looked terrible, small and pale, stark white bandage taped across his forehead and temple where they had put stitches to close a nasty cut. He was covered in small cuts and bruises but he wasn’t really badly hurt. A mild concussion, a broken arm and just two cuts that required stitches. One by his temple and one on his foot. He was running a mild fever but Mike would have been surprised if he hadn’t. If you let him out in the rain you knew for sure he would catch sick. 

Now he gave a small nod, still looking so miserable it made Mike worried. He had expected him to rant about the horrible experience, complain about how his brother hadn’t been there. He had expected him to do something Andersish, but instead he just sat with his broken arm pressed to his stomach and the other half wrapped around himself. 

Then he started telling Mike about what had happened, and he told him all of it. He knew that at least Mike wouldn’t think he was crazy. He might not believe him, but he wouldn’t scorn him or say he was nuts. There were some advantages to coming from a family of gods, people tended to be more willing to believe crazy stuff. 

“She was there Mike, she was there,” he insisted. 

“The guy who brought you in told the doctors you hit your head and were dreaming, ranting,” Mike mused. 

“It was real, she was there!” Anders snapped. 

“And I believe you,” Mike told him soothingly. “I don’t know what you saw, but I believe you did see it.” 

“The woman said she was dead, thirteen years ago,” he muttered. 

“And she said she was trying to go home,” Mike added, squeezing his shoulder. “And it’s about time we did the same. You ready to go home?” 

Anders nodded slowly, “I can?” 

“Light concussion and broken arm, nothing you need to stay here for.”Mike told him with a smile. “Sure, we’re going home.” 

“I don’t even know where I am,” Anders mumbled. “Didn’t how I’d get back home.” He didn’t say that he did not know if Mike would come, but he did not have to, Mike knew it. 

“Jesus Anders, what do you think of me?” he demanded. “You’re a fucking prick, but you’re my brother. My ‘little’ brother, and if you think I wouldn’t come get you, then maybe I’ll think you hit your head hard enough you really were imagining things. But you did not, you saw what you saw, and you damn well know I’d come and get you.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Anders confirmed, with a hint more certainty in his voice. 

“I brought you clothes, I figured you’d need something dry. But the way what you wore looks I’d say it’s ready for the trash. And no one told me I needed to bring you shoes, so I don’t have any for you, sorry,” he apologized as he helped Anders to dress. T-shirt and an old thick sweater, and a pair of sweatpants that had been Ty’s because Anders being warm was more important than his pride at the moment. 

“Shoes were shit anyway,” Anders managed a small smile. “Fucking worthless, I was soaked through in two minutes. And my feet are still so fucking cold. I need a new pair, like yours,” he added in a quiet whisper. 

“Smart thinking Ands,” Mike told him and he looked up in surprise. “We’ll make a stop on the way home, it’s a bit of a drive anyway, so we’d better make sure you get something to eat. You got a cut on your foot you need to be a bit careful with, but we’ll find you something good and warm.”

Anders gave him a grateful smile and allowed Mike to take charge. He was surprised when he settled in the front seat of Mike’s truck and his brother reached into the backseat for a couple of blankets that he passed him. 

“Anders, you were wet, of course I knew you’d be sick,” his brother chuckled. “Fucks sake, we couldn’t let it rain on you or you’d catch pneumonia when you were a kid, and you still catch a cold anytime you get your feet wet, so it doesn’t take a genius to bring a couple of blankets eh?” 

“I guess not,” he admitted, pulling the blankets closer around himself. Leaning his head back and holding his broken arm against his midsection. Mike had turned the heater on and angled the air vents towards him, but it wasn’t blasting heat in that uncomfortable way. They were low enough they just made him comfortably warm, content to snuggle into the blankets and allowing his head to rest against Mike’s shoulder. 

He felt warm and safe knowing he’d be home soon, he’d have a pair of good shoes that kept his feet warm. Mike wouldn’t just ditch him but would make sure that he was okay because that was what Mike always did. 

He helped him inside and put him to bed, he got Ty to make the soup because they all knew that Ty was just the best cook they had. He could make Anders eat even when he really, really did not want to. Warm and comfortable, in spite of being sick. The fragrance of soup coming from the kitchen and the soft murmur of his brothers talking. 

He was home. 

Maybe someday, Mary would be too. 

The End

Please comment, the Cricket is hungry... And please read the story by Aramirandme81 for the same challange. Thank you again my friend,

**Author's Note:**

> For once I'd have to say that I researched the subject quite well, between writing the bulk of this story, and the final tweaking my car died on me in the middle of the night, (2.30 am) On a road pretty much deserted. Due to it being in the aftermath of a fairly nasty storm it was raining quite heavily but the one thing I did wrong was my phone had signal... 
> 
> Also, I regret to say I did not see Mary, I looked for her, believe me I looked for her....


End file.
